


That Other Girl

by tooralooryeaye



Category: All-American Rejects, Hanson (Band)
Genre: Hanson - Underneath Era, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooralooryeaye/pseuds/tooralooryeaye
Summary: Bed death isn't just for lesbians. Taylor takes matters into his own hands.





	That Other Girl

**Author's Note:**

> _Just do me, baby. Come on, and drive me crazy_   
>  _Act like I’m not your lady_   
>  _Do me like you wanna do them other girls  
>  _...You need to make love to me like you don’t love me.__
> 
> __
> 
> __\--Janet Jackson, “Like You Don’t Love Me”_ _

 

* * *

Taylor ran his hands down his sides again. The semi-bareness of his skin felt foreign to him; a constructed state of undress that served as an illusion.

Nudity had never embarrassed him; he grew up with so many people around and underfoot that sometimes clothes were an afterthought--feeding and bathing babies were first priority. Clothes second. Transitioning from a house one bedroom too small for six children to  _ real  _ life on the road with five and six-figure consequences resting on he and his brothers’ shoulders, surrounded by adults that often forgot the objects of public affection in their care were in fact children--Taylor had seen and shared far more birthday suits in all manner of style than he cared to.   
  
The fans’ constant lusting, even after all this time, didn’t faze him anymore either. As a teenager, Taylor learned the baggy polyester would keep him covered and hidden when in public, but he couldn’t breathe and move the way he needed to onstage.

As the mania died down, and the fans’ jealousy grew when wedding bells rang and fresh newborns wailed, Taylor became less concerned with how exposed he was and much more focused on the things outside himself that he was responsible for. Cue cheap tanktops and well-worn, snug jeans.

He knew he sweated right through each of them onstage, and everyone could see anything they wanted. He simply didn’t care.

But here, in a dank ground-level apartment, alone in a dark room, squinting at his reflection--the unease of feeling exposed captured the breath in his throat. His pulse spiked and one single drop of sweat trickled down his neck.

It was too late to go back. Tyson would be home any minute, and Taylor wouldn’t be able to explain anything left over if he backed out now. Denise had already snuck out, winking and thumbs-upping over her shoulder, makeup bag in tow.

Taylor licked his lips--sticky--and fingered the fringe hanging from the cutoffs. Shorts had never been his taste, but he liked the way the high cut framed his thighs. The tightness of denim stretched over his ass excited him and reminded him why he was doing this. Where the seam rested just below his glute, fringe tickled and tangled in some of his leg hair. 

Taylor slid his hands back up to his stomach and smoothed the fabric of the babydoll tanktop. Too short for his long torso, his lovetrail peeked out under the butterfly seam. It softened the fluorescent pinkness of the fabric. It was garish and a far cry from his typical solid white or black, but he liked its brightness against his tanned skin.

All of it, despite his ambivalence, he could get accustomed to...except for the bras.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for months! But after re-reading it I realized it'd be a good starting point for juicy fun times later :) I'm not in a rush to finish this but hopefully posting here will get the ball rolling. The next parts will be much, much... _longer_ ;)


End file.
